PS 

2859 

S2 

F57 

1921 

MAIN 


Mb    B6H 

SHIN'JIMMY 

BY 

DANNIE  TRUMBUll 


GENERAL 
LIBRARY 


BY  ANNIE  TRUMBULL  SLOSSON 


A  LOCAL  COLORIST 
STORY-TELL  LIB 
FISHIN'  JIMMY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


I'm  ^ettin'  on  now,  I'm  nigh  seventy 


FISHIN'  JIMMY 


BY 

ANNIE  TRUMBULL  SLOSSON 


AUTHOR'S  EDITION 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 

BY 
ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  CO 

COPYRIGHT,  1896, 

BY 

ANNIE  TRUMBULL  SLOSSON 


PRINTED  AT 

THE   SCRIBNER  PRE-SS 

NEW  YORK,  U.  S.  A. 


PS 

C 
57 


FISHIN'  JIMMY 


TT  WAS  on  the  margin  of  Pond  Brook, 
just  back  of  Uncle  Eben's,  that  I 
first  saw  Fishin'  Jimmy.  It  was  early 
June,  and  we  were  again  at  Franconia, 
that  peaceful  little  village  among  the 
northern  hills. 

The  boys,  as  usual,  were  tempting  the 
trout  with  false  fly  or  real  worm,  and  I 
was  roaming  along  the  bank,  seeking 
spring  flowers,  and  hunting  early  butter 
flies  and  moths.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
little  plash  in  the  water  at  the  spot  where 
Ralph  was  fishing,  the  slender  tip  of  his 
rod  bent,  I  heard  a  voice  cry  out,  "  Strike 

3 

M846441 


4  Fishin*  Jimmy 

him,  sonny,  strike  him !  "  and  an  old  man 
came  quickly  but  noiselessly  through 
the  bushes,  just  as  Ralph's  line  flew  up 
into  space,  with,  alas !  no  shining,  spotted 
trout  upon  the  hook.  The  new  comer 
was  a  spare,  wiry  man  of  middle  height, 
with  a  slight  stoop  in  his  shoulders,  a 
thin  brown  face,  and  scanty  gray  hair. 
He  carried  a  fishing-rod,  and  had  some 
small  trout  strung  on  a  forked  stick  in 
one  hand.  A  simple,  homely  figure,  yet 
he  stands  out  in  memory  just  as  I  saw 
him  then,  no  more  to  be  forgotten  than 
the  granite  hills,  the  rushing  streams, 
the  cascades  of  that  north  country  I  love 
so  well. 

We  fell  into  talk  at  once,  Ralph  and 
Waldo  rushing  eagerly  into  questions 
about  the  fish,  the  bait,  the  best  spots  in 
the  stream,  advancing  their  own  small 
theories,  and  asking  advice  from  their 
new  friend.  For  friend  he  seemed  even 


Fishiri  Jimmy  5 

in  that  first  hour,  as  he  began  simply, 
but  so  wisely,  to  teach  my  boys  the  art 
he  loved.  They  are  older  now,  and  are 
no  mean  anglers,  I  believe;  but  they 
look  back  gratefully  to  those  brookside 
lessons,  and  acknowledge  gladly  their 
obligations  to  Fishin'  Jimmy.  But  it  is 
not  of  these  practical  teachings  I  would 
now  speak ;  rather  of  the  lessons  of  sim 
ple  faith,  of  unwearied  patience,  of  self- 
denial  and  cheerful  endurance,  which  the 
old  man  himself  seemed  to  have  learned, 
strangely  enough,  from  the  very  sport 
so  often  called  cruel  and  murderous. 
Incomprehensible  as  it  may  seem,  to  his 
simple  intellect  the  fisherman's  art  was 
a  whole  system  of  morality,  a  guide  for 
every-day  life,  an  education,  a  gospel. 
It  was  all  any  poor  mortal  man,  woman, 
or  child,  needed  in  this  world  to  make 
him  or  her  happy,  useful,  good. 

At  first  we  scarcely  realized  this,  and 


6  Fishiri  Jimmy 

wondered  greatly  at  certain  things  he 
said,  and  the  tone  in  which  he  said 
them.  I  remember  at  that  first  meeting 
I  asked  him,  rather  carelessly,  "  Do  you 
like  fishing  ?  "  He  did  not  reply  at  first ; 
then  he  looked  at  me  with  those  odd, 
limpid,  green-gray  eyes  of  his  which  al 
ways  seemed  to  reflect  the  clear  waters 
of  mountain  streams,  and  said  very 
quietly:  "You  would  n't  ask  me  if  I 
liked  my  mother — or  my  wife."  And 
he  always  spoke  of  his  pursuit  as  one 
speaks  of  something  very  dear,  very 
sacred.  Part  of  his  story  I  learned  from 
others,  but  most  of  it  from  himself,  bit 
by  bit,  as  we  wandered  together  day  by 
day  in  that  lovely  hill-country.  As  I 
tell  it  over  again  I  seem  to  hear  the  rush 
of  mountain  streams,  the  "sound  of  a 
going  in  the  tops  of  the  trees,"  the  sweet, 
pensive  strain  of  white-throat  sparrow, 
and  the  plash  of  leaping  trout;  to  see 


Fishiri  Jimmy  7 

the  crystal-clear  waters  pouring  over 
granite  rock,  the  wonderful  purple  light 
upon  the  mountains,  the  flash  and  glint 
of  darting  fish,  the  tender  green  of  early 
summer  in  the  north  country. 

Fishin'  Jimmy's  real  name  was  James 
Whitcher.  He  was  born  in  the  Fran- 
conia  Valley  of  northern  New  Hamp 
shire,  and  his  whole  life  had  been  passed 
there.  He  had  always  fished ;  he  could 
not  remember  when  or  how  he  learned 
the  art.  From  the  days  when,  a  tiny, 
bare-legged  urchin  in  ragged  frock,  he 
had  dropped  his  piece  of  string  with  its 
bent  pin  at  the  end  into  the  narrow,  shal 
low  brooklet  behind  his  father's  house, 
through  early  boyhood's  season  of  roam 
ing  along  Gale  River,  wading  Black 
Brook,  rowing  a  leaky  boat  on  Streeter 
or  Mink  Pond,  through  youth,  through 
manhood,  on  and  on  into  old  age,  his 
life  had  apparently  been  one  long  day's 


8  Fishin*  Jimmy 

fishing — an  angler's  holiday.  Had  it 
been  only  that  ?  He  had  not  cared  for 
books,  or  school,  and  all  efforts  to  tie 
him  down  to  study  were  unavailing. 
But  he  knew  well  the  books  of  running 
brooks.  No  dry  botanical  text-book  or 
manual  could  have  taught  him  all  he 
now  knew  of  plants  and  flowers  and 
trees. 

He  did  not  call  the  yellow  spatterdock 
Nuphar  advena,  but  he  knew  its  large 
leaves  of  rich  green,  where  the  black 
bass  or  pickerel  sheltered  themselves 
from  the  summer  sun,  and  its  yellow 
balls  on  stout  stems,  around  which  his 
line  so  often  twined  and  twisted,  or  in 
which  the  hook  caught,  not  to  be  jerked 
out  till  the  long,  green,  juicy  stalk  itself, 
topped  with  globe  of  greenish  gold,  came 
up  from  its  wet  bed.  He  knew  the 
sedges  along  the  bank  with  their  nod 
ding  tassels  and  stiff  lance-like  leaves, 


Fishirf  Jimmy  9 

the  feathery  grasses,  the  velvet  moss 
upon  the  wet  stones,  the  sea-green  lichen 
on  boulder  or  tree-trunk.  There,  in  that 
corner  of  Echo  Lake,  grew  the  thickest 
patch  of  pipewort,  with  its  small,  round, 
grayish -white,  mushroom -shaped  tops 
on  long,  slender  stems.  If  he  had  styled 
it  Eriocaulon  septangulare,  would  it  have 
shown  a  closer  knowledge  of  its  habits 
than  did  his  careful  avoidance  of  its 
vicinity,  his  keeping  line  and  flies  at  a 
safe  distance,  as  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  Them  pesky  butt'ns  agin !  "  He  knew 
by  sight  the  bur-reed  of  mountain  ponds, 
with  its  round,  prickly  balls  strung  like 
big  beads  on  the  stiff,  erect  stalks ;  the 
little  water-lobelia,  with  tiny  purple  blos 
soms,  springing  from  the  waters  of  lake 
and  pond.  He  knew,  too,  all  the  strange, 
beautiful  under-water  growth:  bladder- 
wort  in  long,  feathery  garlands,  pel 
lucid  water-weed,  quillwort  in  stiff  little 


io  Fishjri  Jimmy 

bunches  with  sharp -pointed  leaves  of 
olive-green, — all  so  seldom  seen  save  by 
the  angler  whose  hooks  draw  up  from 
time  to  time  the  wet,  lovely  tangle.  I 
remember  the  amusement  with  which  a 
certain  well-known  botanist,  who  had 
journeyed  to  the  mountains  in  search 
of  a  little  plant,  found  many  years  ago 
near  Echo  Lake,  but  not  since  seen, 
heard  me  propose  to  consult  Fishin' 
Jimmy  on  the  subject.  But  I  was  wiser 
than  he  knew.  Jimmy  looked  at  the 
specimen  brought  as  an  aid  to  identifica 
tion.  It  was  dry  and  flattened,  and  as 
unlike  a  living,  growing  plant  as  are 
generally  the  specimens  from  an  her 
barium.  But  it  showed  the  awl-shaped 
leaves,  and  thread-like  stalk  with  its  tiny 
round  seed-vessels,  like  those  of  our 
common  shepherd's -purse,  and  Jimmy 
knew  it  at  once.  "  There  's  a  dreffle  lot  o' 
that  peppergrass  out  in  deep  water  there, 


Fishiri  Jimmy  1 1 

jest  where  I  ketched  the  big  pick'ril," 
he  said  quietly.  "  I  seen  it  nigh  a  foot 
high,  an'  it  's  juicier  and  livin'er  than 
them  dead  sticks  in  your  book."  At  our 
request  he  accompanied  the  unbelieving 
botanist  and  myself  to  the  spoti  and 
there,  looking  down  through  the  sunlit 
water,  we  saw  great  patches  of  that  rare 
and  long -lost  plant  of  the  Cruciferse 
known  to  science  as  Subularia  aquatica. 
For  forty  years  it  had  hidden  itself  away, 
growing  and  blossoming  and  casting 
abroad  its  tiny  seeds  in  its  watery  home, 
unseen,  or  at  least  unnoticed,  by  living 
soul,  save  by  the  keen,  soft,  limpid  eyes 
of  Fishin'  Jimmy.  And  he  knew  the 
trees  and  shrubs  so  well :  the  alder  and 
birch  from  which  as  a  boy  he  cut  his 
simple,  pliant  pole;  the  shad-blow  and 
iron-wood  (he  called  them,  respectively, 
sugarplum  and  hard-hack)  which  he  used 
for  the  more  ambitious  rods  of  maturer 


1 2  Fishiri  Jimmy 

years;  the  mooseberry,  wayfaring  -  tree, 
hobble-bush,  or  triptoe, — it  has  all  these 
names,  with  stout,  trailing  branches,  over 
which  he  stumbled  as  he  hurried  through 
the  woods  and  underbrush  in  the  dark 
ening  twilight. 

He  had  never  heard  of  entomology. 
Guenee,  Hubner,  and  Fabricius  were  un 
known  names;  but  he  could  have  told 
these  worthies  many  new  things.  Did 
they  know  just  at  what  hour  the  trout 
ceased  leaping  at  dark  fly  or  moth,  and 
could  see  only  in  the  dim  light  the 
ghostly  white  miller  ?  Did  they  know 
the  comparative  merits,  as  a  tempting 
bait,  of  grasshopper,  cricket,  spider,  or 
wasp ;  and  could  they,  with  bits  of  wool, 
tinsel,  and  feather,  copy  the  real  dipter 
ous,  hymenopterous,  or  orthopterous  in 
sect  ?  And  the  birds :  he  knew  them 
as  do  few  ornithologists,  by  sight,  by 
sound,  by  little  ways  and  tricks  of  their 


Fishiri  Jimmy  13 

own,  known  only  to  themselves  and  him. 
The  white-throat  sparrow  with  its  sweet, 
far-reaching  chant;  the  hermit -thrush 
with  its  chime  of  bells  in  the  calm  sum 
mer  twilight;  the  vesper  -  sparrow  that 
ran  before  him  as  he  crossed  the  meadow, 
or  sang  for  hours,  as  he  fished  the 
stream,  its  unvarying,  but  scarcely  mo 
notonous  little  strain;  the  cedar -bird, 
with  its  smooth  brown  coat  of  Quaker 
simplicity,  and  speech  as  brief  and  simple 
as  Quaker  yea  or  nay;  the  winter-wren 
sending  out  his  strange,  lovely,  liquid 
warble  from  the  high,  rocky  side  of  Can 
non  Mountain ;  the  bluebird  of  the  early 
spring,  so  welcome  to  the  winter-weary 
dwellers  in  that  land  of  ice  and  snow, 

as  he 

"  From  the  bluer  deeps 

Lets  fall  a  quick,  prophetic  strain," 

of  summer,  of  streams  freed  and  flowing 
again,  of  waking,  darting,  eager  fish,  the 


14  Fishirf  Jimmy 

veery,  the  phoebe,  the  jay,  the  vireo, — 
all  these  were  friends,  familiar,  tried,  and 
true  to  Fishin'  Jimmy.  The  cluck  and 
coo  of  the  cuckoo,  the  bubbling  song  of 
bobolink  in  buff  and  black,  the  watery 
trill  of  the  stream-loving  swamp-sparrow, 
the  whispered  whistle  of  the  stealthy, 
darkness  -  haunting  whippoorwill,  the 
gurgle  and  gargle  of  the  cow-bunting, — 
he  knew  each  and  all,  better  than  did 
Audubon,  Nuttall,  or  Wilson.  But  he 
never  dreamed  that  even  the  tiniest  of 
his  little  favorites  bore,  in  the  scientific 
world,  far  away  from  that  quiet  moun 
tain  nest,  such  names  as  Troglodytes 
hyemalis  or  Melospiza  palustris.  He 
could  tell  you,  too,  of  strange,  shy  crea 
tures  rarely  seen  except  by  the  early- 
rising,  late-fishing  angler,  in  quiet,  lone 
some  places:  the  otter,  muskrat,  and 
mink  of  ponds  and  lakes, — rival  fishers, 
who  bore  off  prey  sometimes  from  under 


Fishiri  Jimmy  \  5 

his  very  eyes, — field-mice  in  meadow 
and  pasture,  blind,  burrowing  moles, 
prickly  hedge-hogs,  brown  hares,  and 
social,  curious  squirrels. 

Sometimes  he  saw  deer,  in  the  early 
morning  or  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
as  they  came  to  drink  at  the  lake  shore, 
and  looked  at  him  with  big,  soft  eyes 
not  unlike  his  own.  Sometimes  a  shaggy 
bear  trotted  across  his  path  and  hid  him 
self  in  the  forest,  or  a  sharp-eared  fox 
ran  barking  through  the  bushes.  He 
loved  to  tell  of  these  things  to  us  who 
cared  to  listen,  and  I  still  seem  to  hear 
his  voice  saying  in  hushed  tones,  after 
a  story  of  woodland  sight  or  sound: 
"Nobody  don't  see  'em  but  fishermen. 
Nobody  don't  hear  'em  but  fishermen." 


II 

OUT  it  was  of  another  kind  of  knowl 
edge  he  oftenest  spoke,  and  of 
which  I  shall  try  to  tell  you,  in  his  own 
words  as  nearly  as  possible. 

First  let  me  say  that  if  there  should 
seem  to  be  the  faintest  tinge  of  irrever 
ence  in  aught  I  write,  I  tell  my  story 
badly.  There  was  no  irreverence  in 
Fishin'  Jimmy.  He  possessed  a  deep 
and  profound  veneration  for  all  things 
spiritual  and  heavenly;  but  it  was  the 
veneration  of  a  little  child,  mingled  as  is 
that  child's  with  perfect  confidence  and 
utter  frankness.  And  he  used  the  dia 
lect  of  the  country  in  which  he  lived. 

"  As  I  was  tellin1  ye,"  he  said,  "  I  allers 

loved  fishin'  an'  knowed  't  was  the  best 
16 


Fishitf  Jimmy  ij 

thing  in  the  hull  airth.  I  knowed  it 
larnt  ye  more  about  creeters  an'  yarbs 
an'  stuns  an'  water  than  books  could  tell 
ye.  I  knowed  it  made  folks  patienter 
an'  commonsenser  an'  weather-wiser  an* 
cuter  gen'ally ;  gin  'em  more  fac'lty  than 
all  the  school  larnin'  in  creation.  I 
knowed  it  was  more  fillin'  than  vittles, 
more  rousin'  than  whisky,  more  soothin' 
than  lodlum.  I  knowed  it  cooled  ye  off 
when  ye  was  het,  an'  het  ye  when  ye 
was  cold.  I  knowed  all  that,  o*  course — 
any  fool  knows  it.  But — will  ye  b'l'eve 
it  ? — I  was  more  'n  twenty-one  year  old, 
a  man  growed,  'fore  I  foun'  out  why  't 
was  that  away.  Father  an'  mother  was 
Christian  folks,  good  out-an'-out  Calv'- 
nist  Baptists  from  over  East'n  way. 
They  fetched  me  up  right,  made  me  go 
to  meetin'  an'  read  a  chapter  every  Sun 
day,  an'  say  a  hymn  Sat'day  night  a'ter 
washin';  an'  I  useter  say  my  prayers 


1 8  Fishiri  Jimmy 

mos'  nights.  I  wa'n't  a  bad  boy  a*  boys 
go.  But  nobody  thought  o'  tellhV  me 
the  one  thing,  jest  the  one  single  thing, 
that  'd  ha'  made  all  the  diffunce.  I 
knowed  about  God,  an'  how  he  made 
me  an'  made  the  airth,  an*  everything 
an'  once  I  got  thinkin'  about  that,  an' 
I  asked  my  father  if  God  made  the 
fishes.  He  said  'course  he  did,  the  sea 
an'  all  that  in  'em  is ;  but  somehow  that 
did  n't  seem  to  mean  nothin'  much  to 
me,  an'  I  lost  my  int'rist  agin.  An*  I 
read  the  Scripter  account  o'  Jonah  an' 
the  big  fish,  an'  all  that  in  Job  about 
pullin'  out  levi'thing  with  a  hook  an' 
stickin'  fish  spears  in  his  head,  an'  some 
parts  in  them  queer  books  nigh  the  end 
o'  the  ole  Test'ment  about  fish-ponds  an' 
fish-gates  an'  fish -pools,  an'  how  the 
fishers  shall  1'ment — everything  I  could 
pick  out  about  fishin'  an'  sech ;  but  it 
did  n't  come  home  to  me ;  't  wa'n't  my 


Fishiri  Jimmy  19 

kind  o*  fishin'  an'  I  did  n't  seem  ter 
sense  it. 

"  But  one  day — it 's  more  'n  forty  year 
ago  now,  but  I  rec'lect  it  same  's  't  was 
yest'day,  an'  I  shall  rec'lect  it  forty  thou 
sand  year  from  now  if  I  'm  'round,  an' 
I  guess  I  shall  be — I  heerd — suthin' — 
diffunt.  I  was  down  in  the  village  one 
Sunday ;  it  wa'n't  very  good  fishin' — the 
streams  was  too  full ;  an'  I  thought  I  'd 
jest  look  into  the  meetin'-house  's  I  went 
by.  'T  was  the  ole  union  meetin'-house, 
down  to  the  corner,  ye  know,  an'  they 
had  n't  got  no  reg'lar  s'pply,  an'  ye  never 
knowed  what  sort  ye  'd  hear,  so  't  was 
kind  o'  excitin*. 

"  'T  was  late,  'most  'leven  o'clock,  an' 
the  sarm'n  had  begun.  There  was  a 
strange  man  a-preachin',  some  one  from 
over  to  the  hotel.  I  never  heerd  his 
name,  I  never  seed  him  from  that  day  to 
this;  but  I  knowed  his  face.  Queer 


2O  Fishin'  Jimmy 

enough  I  'd  seed  him  a-fishin'.  I  never 
knowed  he  was  a  min'ster;  he  did  n't 
look  like  one.  He  went  about  like  a 
real  fisherman,  with  ole  clo'es  an'  an  ole 
hat  with  hooks  stuck  in  it,  an'  big  rub 
ber  boots,  an'  he  fished,  reely  fished,  I 
mean — ketched  'em.  I  guess  't  was  that 
made  me  liss'n  a  leetle  sharper  'n  us'al, 
for  I  never  seed  a  fishin'  min'ster  afore. 
Elder  Jacks'n,  he  said  't  was  a  sinf'l 
waste  o*  time,  an'  ole  Parson  Loomis, 
he  'd  an  idee  it  was  cruel  an'  onmarci- 
ful ;  so  I  thought  I  'd  jest  see  what  this 
man  'd  preach  about,  an'  I  settled  down 
to  liss'n  to  the  sarm'n. 

"  But  there  wa'n't  no  sarm'n ;  not  what 
I  'd  been  raised  to  think  was  the  on'y 
true  kind.  There  wa'n't  no  heads,  no 
fustlys  nor  sec'ndlys,  nor  fin'ly  bruthrins, 
but  the  first  thing  I  knowed  I  was  hear- 
in'  a  story,  an'  't  was  a  fishin'  story.  T 
was  about  Some  One — I  had  n't  the  least 


Fishiri  Jimmy  2 1 

idee  then  who  't  was,  an'  how  much  it 
all  meant — Some  One  that  was  dreffle 
fond  o'  fishin'  an'  fishermen,  Some  One 
that  sot  everythin'  by  the  water,  an* 
useter  go  along  by  the  lakes  an'  ponds, 
an'  sail  on  'em,  an'  talk  with  the  men 
that  was  fishin'.  An'  how  the  fishermen 
all  liked  him,  'nd  asked  his  'dvice,  an' 
done  jest 's  he  telled  'em  about  the  like 
liest  places  to  fish ;  an'  how  they  allers 
ketched  more  for  mindin'  him ;  an'  how 
when  he  was  a-preachin'  he  would  n't 
go  into  a  big  meetin'-house  an*  talk  to 
rich  folks  all  slicked  up,  but  he  'd  jest 
go  out  in  a  fishin'  boat,  an'  ask  the  men 
to  shove  out  a  mite,  an'  he  'd  talk  to  the 
folks  on  shore,  the  fishin'  folks  an*  their 
wives  an'  the  boys  an*  gals  playin'  on 
the  shore.  An'  then,  best  o'  everythin', 
he  telled  how  when  he  was  a-choosin' 
the  men  to  go  about  with  him  an'  help 
him  an'  larn  his  ways  so  's  to  come  a'ter 


22  Fishin'  Jimmy 

him,  he  fust  o*  all  picked  out  the  men 
he  'd  seen  every  day  fishin',  an'  mebbe 
fished  with  hisself ;  for  he  knowed  'em 
an'  knowed  he  could  trust  'em. 

"  An'  then  he  telled  us  about  the  day 
when  this  preacher  come  along  by  the 
lake — a  dreffle  sightly  place,  this  min'- 
ster  said;  he  'd  seed  it  hisself  when  he 
was  travlin*  in  them  countries — an'  come 
acrost  two  men  he  knowed  well;  they 
was  brothers,  an'  they  was  a-fishin'.  An' 
he  jest  asked  'em  in  his  pleasant-spoken, 
frien'ly  way — there  wa'n't  never  sech  a 
drawin',  takin',  lovin'  way  with  any  one 
afore  as  this  man  had,  the  min'ster  said 
— he  jest  asked  'em  to  come  along  with 
him ;  an'  they  lay  down  their  poles  an* 
their  lines  an'  everything  an'  jined  him. 
An'  then  he  come  along  a  spell  further, 
an'  he  s^es  two  boys  out  with  their  ole 
father,  an'  they  was  settin'  in  a  boat 
an'  fixin'  up  their  tackle,  an'  he  asked 


Fishiri  Jimmy  23 

'em  if  they  'd  jine  him,  too,  an'  they  jest 
dropped  all  their  things,  an'  left  the  ole 
man  with  the  boat  an'  the  fish  an'  the 
bait  an'  follered  the  preacher.  I  don't 
tell  it  very  good.  I  Ve  read  it  an'  read 
it  sence  that ;  but  I  want  to  make  ye  see 
how  it  sounded  to  me,  how  I  took  it,  as 
the  min'ster  telled  it  that  summer  day  in 
Francony  meetin*.  Ye  see  I  'd  no  idee 
who  the  story  was  about,  the  man  put  it 
so  plain,  in  common  kind  o'  talk,  with 
out  any  come-to-passes  an'  whuffers  an' 
thuffers,  an'  I  never  conceited  't  was  a 
Bible  narr'tive. 

"An*  so  fust  thing  I  knowed  I  says  to 
myself,  'That  's  the  kind  o'  teacher  I 
want.  If  I  could  come  acrost  a  man  like 
that,  I  'd  jest  foller  him,  too,  through 
thick  an'  thin.'  Well,  I  can't  put  the 
rest  on  it  into  talk  very  good;  't  aint 
jest  the  kind  o'  thing  to  speak  on  'fore 
folks,  even  sech  good  friends  as  you.  I 


24  Fishirf  Jimmy 

aint  the  sort  to  go  back  on  my  word, — 
— fishermen  aint,  ye  know, — an*  what  I 
'd  said  to  myself  Tore  I  knowed  who  I 
was  bindin'  myself  to,  I  stuck  to  a'ter- 
wards  when  I  knowed  all  about  him. 
For  't  aint  for  me  to  tell  ye,  who've  got 
so  much  more  larnin'  than  me,  that  there 
was  a  dreffle  lot  more  to  that  story  than 
the  fishin'  part.  That  lovin',  givin'  up, 
sufTrin',  dyin'  part,  ye  know  it  all  yer- 
self,  an'  I  can't  kinder  say  much  on  it, 
'cept  when  I  'm  jest  all  by  myself,  or — 
'long  o'  him. 

"  That  a'ternoon  I  took  my  ole  Bible 
that  I  had  n't  read  much  sence  I  growed 
up,  an*  I  went  out  into  the  woods  'long 
the  river,  an'  'stid  o'  fishin'  I  jest  sot 
down  an'  read  that  hull  story.  Now  ye 
know  it  yerself  by  heart,  an'  ye  Ve 
knowed  it  all  yer  born  days,  so  ye  can't 
begin  to  tell  how  new  an'  'stonishin'  't 
was  to  me,  an'  how  findin'  so  much  fish- 


Fishiii  Jimmy  25 

in'  in  it  kinder  helped  me  unnerstan'  an' 
bTeve  it  every  mite,  an'  take  it  right 
hum  to  me  to  foller  an'  live  up  to  's  long 
's  I  live  an'  breathe.  Did  j'ever  think 
on  it,  reely  ?  I  tell  ye,  his  r'liging  's  a 
fishin'  r'liging  all  through.  His  friends 
was  fishin'  folks  ;  his  pulpit  was  a  fishin' 
boat,  or  the  shore  o'  the  lake ;  he  loved 
the  ponds  an'  streams;  an'  when  his 
d'sciples  went  out  fishin',  if  he  did  n't  go 
hisself  with  'em,  he  'd  go  a'ter  'em,  walk- 
in*  on  the  water,  to  cheer  'em  up  an' 
comfort  'em. 

"  An'  he  was  allers  'round  the  water ; 
for  the  story  '11  say,  '  he  come  to  the  sea 
shore/  or  *  he  begun  to  teach  by  the  sea 
side,'  or  agin, '  he  entered  into  a  boat,'  an' 
'  he  was  in  the  stern  o'  the  boat,  asleep.' 

"  An'  he  used  fish  in  his  mir'cles. 
He  fed  that  crowd  o'  folks  on  fish  when 
they  was  hungry,  bought  'em  from  a 
little  chap  on  the  shore.  I  've  oft'n 


26  Fishiri  Jimmy 

thought  how  dreffle  tickled  that  boy 
must  'a'  ben  to  have  him  take  them  fish. 
Mebbe  they  wa'n't  nothin'  but  shiners, 
but  the  fust  the  little  feller  'd  ever 
ketched;  an'  boys  set  a  heap  on  their 
fust  ketch.  He  was  dreffle  good  to 
child'en,  ye  know.  An'  who  'd  he  come 
to  a'ter  he  'd  died,  an'  ris  agin  ?  Why, 
he  come  down  to  the  shore  'fore  day 
light,  an'  looked  off  over  the  pond  to 
where  his  ole  frien's  was  a-fishin*.  Ye  see 
they  'd  gone  out  jest  to  quiet  their  minds 
an'  keep  up  their  sperrits;  ther  's  nothin' 
like  fishin'  for  that,  ye  know,  an'  they  'd 
ben  in  a  heap  o'  trubble.  When  they 
was  settin'  up  the  night  afore,  worryin' 
an'  wond'rin'  an'  s'misin'  what  was  goin' 
ter  become  on  'em  without  their  master, 
Peter  'd  got  kinder  desprit,  an'  he  up  an' 
says  in  his  quick  way,  says  he,  'Any 
way,  /  'm  goin'  a-fishin'.'  An*  they  all 
see  the  sense  on  it,  —  any  fisherman 


Fishirf  Jimmy  27 

would, — an'  they  says,  says  they,  "We 
'11  go  long  too.'  But  they  did  n't  ketch 
anythin*.  I  suppose  they  could  n't  fix 
their  minds  on  it,  an'  everythin'  went 
wrong  like.  But  when  mornin'  come 
creepin'  up  over  the  mountings,  fust  thin' 
they  knowed  they  see  him  on  the  bank, 
an'  he  called  out  to  'em  to  know  if  they'd 
ketched  anythin'.  The  water  jest  run 
down  my  cheeks  when  I  heerd  the  min'- 
ster  tell  that,  an'  it  kinder  makes  my 
eyes  wet  every  time  I  think  on  't.  For 
't  seems  's  if  it  might  'a'  ben  me  in  that 
boat,  who  heern  that  v'ice  I  loved  so 
dreffle  well  speak  up  agin  so  nat'ral  from 
the  bank  there.  An'  he  eat  some  o'  their 
fish !  O'  course  he  done  it  to  sot  their 
minds  easy,  to  show  'em  he  wa'n't  quite 
a  sperrit  yit,  but  jest  their  own  ole  frien' 
who  'd  ben  out  in  the  boat  with  'em  so 
many,  many  times.  But  seems  to  me, 
jest  the  fac'  he  done  it  kinder  makes  fish 


28  Fishirf  Jimmy 

an'  fishin'  diffunt  from  any  other  thing  in 
the  hull  airth.  I  tell  ye  them  four  books 
that  gin  his  story  is  chock  full  o'  things 
that  go  right  to  the  heart  o'  fishermen, 
— nets,  an'  hooks,  an'  boats,  an'  the 
shores,  an'  the  sea,  an'  the  mountings, 
Peter's  fishin'-coat,  lilies,  an'  sparrers,  an' 
grass  o'  the  fields,  an'  all  about  the  even- 
in'  sky  bein'  red  or  lowerin',  an*  fair  or 
foul  weather. 

"It  's  an  out-doors,  woodsy,  country 
story,  'sides  bein'  the  heav'nliest  one  that 
was  ever  telled.  I  read  the  hull  Bible, 
as  a  duty  ye  know.  I  read  the  epis'les, 
but  somehow  they  don't  come  home  to 
me.  Paul  was  a  great  man,  a  dreffle 
smart  scholar,  but  he  was  raised  in  the 
city,  I  guess,  an'  when  I  go  from  the 
gospils  into  Paul's  writin's  it  's  like  goin* 
from  the  woods  an'  hills  an'  streams  o' 
Francony  into  the  streets  of  a  big  city 
like  Concord  or  Manch'ster." 


Fishiri  Jimmy  29 

The  old  man  did  not  say  much  of  his 
after  life  and  the  fruits  of  this  strange 
conversion,  but  his  neighbors  told  us  a 
great  deal.  They  spoke  of  his  unselfish 
ness,  his  charity,  his  kindly  deeds  ;  told 
of  his  visiting  the  poor  and  unhappy, 
nursing  the  sick.  They  said  the  little 
children  loved  him,  and  every  one  in  the 
village  and  for  miles  around  trusted  and 
leaned  upon  Fishin'  Jimmy.  He  taught 
the  boys  to  fish,  sometimes  the  girls 
too;  and  while  learning  to  cast  and 
strike,  to  whip  the  stream,  they  drank  in 
knowledge  of  higher  things,  and  came 
to  know  and  love  Jimmy's  "fishin'  r'li- 
ging."  I  remember  they  told  me  of  a 
little  French  Canadian  girl,  a  poor, 
wretched  waif,  whose  mother,  an  un 
known  tramp,  had  fallen  dead  in  the  road 
near  the  village.  The  child,  an  untamed 
little  heathen,  was  found  clinging  to  her 
mother's  body  in  an  agony  of  grief 


30  Fishin*  Jimmy 

and  rage,  and  fought  like  a  tiger  when 
they  tried  to  take  her  away.  A  boy  in 
the  little  group  attracted  to  the  spot,  ran 
away,  with  a  child's  faith  in  his  old 
friend,  to  summon  Fishin'  Jimmy.  He 
came  quickly,  lifted  the  little  savage 
tenderly,  and  carried  her  away. 

No  one  witnessed  the  taming  process, 
but  in  a  few  days  the  pair  were  seen  to 
gether  on  the  margin  of  Black  Brook, 
each  with  a  fish-pole.  Her  dark  face 
was  bright  with  interest  and  excitement 
as  she  took  her  first  lesson  in  the  art  of 
angling.  She  jabbered  and  chattered  in 
her  odd  patois,  he  answered  in  broadest 
New  England  dialect,  but  the  two  quite 
understood  each  other,  and  though  Jim 
my  said  afterward  that  it  was  "dreffle  to 
hear  her  call  the  fish  pois'n,"  they  were 
soon  great  friends  and  comrades.  For 
weeks  he  kept  and  cared  for  the  child, 
and  when  she  left  him  for  a  good  home 


Fishiri  Jimmy  31 

in  Bethlehem,  one  would  scarcely  have 
recognized  in  the  gentle,  affectionate  girl 
the  wild  creature  of  the  past.  Though 
often  questioned  as  to  the  means  used  to 
effect  this  change,  Jimmy's  explanation 
seemed  rather  vague  and  unsatisfactory. 
"T  was  fishin'  done  it,"  he  said;  "on'y 
fishin' ;  it  allers  works.  The  Christian 
r'liging  itself  had  to  begin  with  fishin', 
ye  know." 


Ill 


one  thing  troubled  Fishin'  Jimmy. 
He  wanted  to  be  a  "fisher  of 
men."  That  was  what  the  Great  Teacher 
had  promised  he  would  make  the  fisher 
men  who  left  their  boats  to  follow  him. 
What  strange,  literal  meaning  he  at 
tached  to  the  terms,  we  could  not  tell. 
In  vain  we  —  especially  the  boys,  whose 
young  hearts  had  gone  out  in  warm 
affection  to  the  old  man  —  tried  to  show 
him  that  he  was,  by  his  efforts  to  do 
good  and  make  others  better  and  hap 
pier,  fulfilling  the  Lord's  directions.  He 
could  not  understand  it  so.  "  I  allers 
try  to  think,"  he  said,  "  that  't  was  me  in 
that  boat  when  he  come  along.  I  make 
b'l'eve  that  it  was  out  on  Streeter  Pond, 
32 


Fishiri  Jimmy  33 

an'  I  was  settin'  in  the  boat,  fixin'  my 
lan'in'  net,  when  I  see  him  on  the  shore. 
I  think  mebbe  I  'm  that  James — for  that 's 
my  given  name,  ye  know,  though  they 
allers  call  me  Jimmy — an'  then  I  hear 
him  callin'  me  'James,  James.'  I  can 
hear  him  jest  's  plain  sometimes,  when 
the  wind  's  blowin'  in  the  trees,  an'  I  jest 
ache  to  up  an'  foller  him.  But  says  he, 
*I  '11  make  ye  a  fisher  o*  men,'  an'  he 
aint  done  it.  I  'm  waitin' ;  mebbe  he  '11 
larn  me  some  day." 

He  was  fond  of  all  living  creatures, 
merciful  to  all.  But  his  love  for  our 
dog  Dash  became  a  passion,  for  Dash 
was  an  angler.  Who  that  ever  saw  him 
sitting  in  the  boat  beside  his  master, 
watching  with  eager  eye  and  whole  body 
trembling  with  excitement  the  line  as  it 
was  cast,  the  flies  as  they  touched  the 
surface — who  can  forget  old  Dash  ?  His 
fierce  excitement  at  rise  of  trout,  the 
3 


34  Fishin*  Jimmy 

efforts  at  self-restraint,  the  disappoint 
ment  if  the  prey  escaped,  the  wild  ex 
ultation  if  it  was  captured,  how  plainly 
— he  who  runs  might  read — were  shown 
these  emotions  in  eye,  in  ear,  in  tail,  in 
whole  quivering  body!  What  wonder 
that  it  all  went  straight  to  the  fisher's 
heart  of  Jimmy !  "  I  never  knowed  afore 
they  could  be  Christians,"  he  said,  look 
ing,  with  tears  in  his  soft,  keen  eyes,  at 
the  every-day  scene,  and  with  no  faintest 
thought  of  irreverence.  "  I  never  knowed 
it,  but  I'd  give  a  stiffikit  o'  membership 
in  the  orthodoxest  church  goin'  to  that 
dog  there." 

It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  as 
years  went  on  Jimmy  came  to  know 
many  "  fishin'  min'sters ; "  for  there  are 
many  of  that  school  who  know  our 
mountain  country,  and  seek  it  yearly. 
All  these  knew  and  loved  the  old  man. 
And  there  were  others  who  had  wan* 


Fishiri  Jimmy  3  5 

dered  by  that  sea  of  Galilee,  and  fished 
in  the  waters  of  the  Holy  Land,  and 
with  them  Fishin'  Jimmy  dearly  loved 
to  talk.  But  his  wonder  was  never- 
ending  that,  in  the  scheme  of  evangeliz 
ing  the  world,  more  use  was  not  made 
of  the  "fishin'  side"  of  the  story. 
"Haint  they  ever  tried  it  on  them  poor 
heathen  ? "  he  would  ask  earnestly  of 
some  clerical  angler  casting  a  fly  upon 
the  clear  water  of  pond  or  brook.  "  I 
should  think  't  would  'a'  ben  the  fust 
thing  they  'd  done.  Fishin'  fust,  an'  r'li- 
ging  's  sure  to  foller.  An'  it  's  so  easy ; 
fur  heath'n  mostly  r'sides  on  islands, 
don't  they  ?  So  ther  's  plenty  o*  water, 
an'  o'  course  ther  's  fishin' ;  an'  oncet 
gin  'em  poles  an'  git  'em  to  work,  an* 
they  're  out  o'  mischief  fur  that  day. 
They  'd  like  it  better  'n  cannib'ling,  or 
cuttin'  out  idles,  or  scratchin'  picters  all 
over  theirselves,  an'  bimeby — not  too 


36  Fishirt  Jimmy 

suddent,  ye  know,  to  scare  'em  —  ye 
could  begin  on  that  story,  an'  they  could 
n't  stan'  that,  not  a  heath'n  on  'em. 
Won't  ye  speak  to  the  'Merican  Board 
about  it,  an'  sen'  out  a  few  fishin*  mish- 
neries,  with  poles  an'  lines  an'  tackle 
gen'ally?  I  Ve  tried  it  on  dreffle  bad 
folks,  an'  it  allers  done  'em  good.  But " 
— so  almost  all  his  simple  talk  ended — 
"  I  wish  I  could  begin  to  be  a  fisher  o' 
men.  I  'm  gettin'  on  now,  I  'm  nigh 
seventy,  an'  I  aint  got  much  time,  ye 
see." 

One  afternoon  in  July  there  came  over 
Franconia  Notch  one  of  those  strangely 
sudden  tempests  which  sometimes  visit 
that  mountain  country.  It  had  been 
warm  that  day,  unusually  warm  for  that 
refreshingly  cool  spot ;  but  suddenly  the 
sky  grew  dark  and  darker,  almost  to 
blackness,  there  was  roll  of  thunder  and 
flash  of  lightning,  and  then  poured  down 


Fishiri  Jimmy  37 

the  rain — rain  at  first,  but  soon  hail  in 
large  frozen  bullets,  which  fiercely  pelted 
any  who  ventured  outdoors,  rattled 
against  the  windows  of  the  Profile 
House  with  sharp  cracks  like  sounds  of 
musketry,  and  lay  upon  the  piazza  in 
heaps  like  snow.  And  in  the  midst  of 
the  wild  storm  it  was  remembered  that 
two  boys,  guests  at  the  hotel,  had  gone 
up  Mount  Lafayette  alone  that  day. 
They  were  young  boys,  unused  to 
mountain  climbing,  and  their  friends 
were  anxious.  It  was  found  that  Dash 
had  followed  them ;  and  just  as  some 
one  was  to  be  sent  in  search  of  them,  a 
boy  from  the  stables  brought  the  infor 
mation  that  Fishin*  Jimmy  had  started 
up  the  mountain  after  them  as  the  storm 
broke.  "  Said  if  he  could  n't  be  a  fisher 
o'  men,  mebbe  he  knowed  nufT  to  ketch 
boys,"  went  on  our  informant,  seeing 
nothing  more  in  the  speech,  full  of  pa- 


38  Fishiri  Jimmy 

thetic  meaning  to  us  who  knew  him, 
than  the  idle  talk  of  one  whom  many 
considered  "  lackin'."  Jimmy  was  old 
now,  and  had  of  late  grown  very  feeble, 
and  we  did  not  like  to  think  of  him  out  in 
that  wild  storm.  And  now  suddenly  the 
lost  boys  themselves  appeared  through 
the  opening  in  the  woods  opposite  the 
house,  and  ran  in  through  the  sleet,  now 
falling  more  quietly.  They  were  wet, 
but  no  worse  apparently  for  their  ad 
venture,  though  full  of  contrition  and 
distress  at  having  lost  sight  of  the  dog. 
He  had  rushed  off  into  the  woods  some 
hours  before,  after  a  rabbit  or  hedge 
hog,  and  had  never  returned.  Nor  had 
they  seen  Fishin'  Jimmy. 

As  hours  went  by  and  the  old  man 
did  not  return,  a  search  party  was  sent 
out,  and  guides  familiar  with  the  moun 
tain  paths  went  up  Lafayette  to  seek  for 
him.  It  was  nearly  night  when  they  at 


Fishin'  Jimmy  39 

last  found  him,  and  the  grand  old  moun 
tains  had  put  on  those  robes  of  royal 
purple  which  they  sometimes  assume  at 
eventide.  At  the  foot  of  a  mass  of  rock, 
which  looked  like  amethyst  or  wine-red 
agate  in  that  marvellous  evening  light, 
the  old  man  was  lying,  and  Dash  was 
with  him.  From  the  few  faint  words 
Jimmy  could  then  gasp  out,  the  truth 
was  gathered.  He  had  missed  the  boys, 
leaving  the  path  by  which  they  had  re 
turned,  and  while  stumbling  along  in 
search  of  them,  feeble  and  weary,  he  had 
heard  far  below  a  sound  of  distress. 
Looking  down  over  a  steep,  rocky  ledge, 
he  had  seen  his  friend  and  fishing  com 
rade,  old  Dash,  in  sore  trouble.  Poor 
Dash!  He  never  dreamed  of  harming 
his  old  friend,  for  he  had  a  kind  heart. 
But  he  was  a  sad  coward  in  some  mat 
ters,  and  a  very  baby  when  frightened 
and  away  from  master  and  friends.  So 


40  Fishin?  Jimmy 

I  fear  he  may  have  assumed  the  role  of 
wounded  sufferer  when  in  reality  he  was 
but  scared  and  lonesome.  He  never 
owned  this  afterward,  and  you  may  be 
sure  we  never  let  him  know,  by  word  or 
look,  the  evil  he  had  done.  Jimmy  saw 
him  holding  up  one  paw  helplessly,  and 
looking  at  him  with  wistful,  imploring 
brown  eyes,  heard  his  pitiful  whimper 
ing  cry  for  aid,  and  never  doubted  his 
great  distress  and  peril.  Was  Dash  not 
a  fisherman  ?  And  fishermen,  in  Fishin' 
Jimmy's  category,  were  always  true  and 
trusty.  So  the  old  man  without  a  sec 
ond's  hesitation  started  down  the  steep, 
smooth  decline  to  the  rescue  of  his 
friend. 

We  do  not  know  just  how  or  where  in 
that  terrible  descent  he  fell.  To  us  who 
afterward  saw  the  spot,  and  thought  of 
the  weak  old  man,  chilled  by  the  storm, 
exhausted  by  his  exertions,  and  yet 


Fishiri  Jimmy  41 

clambering  down  that  precipitous  cliff, 
made  more  slippery  and  treacherous  by 
the  sleet  and  hail  still  falling,  it  seemed 
impossible  that  he  could  have  kept  a 
foothold  for  an  instant.  Nor  am  I  sure 
that  he  expected  to  save  himself,  and 
Dash  too.  But  he  tried.  He  was  sadly 
hurt.  I  will  not  tell  you  of  that. 

Looking  out  from  the  hotel  windows 
through  the  gathering  darkness,  we  who 
loved  him — it  was  not  a  small  group — 
saw  a  sorrowful  sight.  Flickering  lights 
thrown  by  the  lanterns  of  the  guides 
came  through  the  woods.  Across  the 
road,  slowly,  carefully,  came  strong  men, 
bearing  on  a  rough  hastily  made  litter 
of  boughs  the  dear  old  man.  All  that 
could  have  been  done  for  the  most  dis 
tinguished  guest,  for  the  dearest,  best- 
beloved  friend,  was  done  for  the  gentle 
fisherman.  We,  his  friends,  and  proud 
to  style  ourselves  thus,  were  of  different, 


42  Fishiri  Jimmy 

widely  separated  lands,  greatly  varying 
creeds.  Some  were  nearly  as  old  as  the 
dying  man,  some  in  the  prime  of  man 
hood.  There  were  youths  and  maidens 
and  little  children.  But  through  the 
night  we  watched  together.  The  old 
Roman  bishop,  whose  calm,  benign  face 
we  all  know  and  love;  the  Churchman, 
ascetic  in  faith,  but  with  the  kindest, 
most  indulgent  heart  when  one  finds  it ; 
the  gentle  old  Quakeress  with  placid, 
unwrinkled  brow  and  silvery  hair ;  Pres 
byterian,  Methodist,  and  Baptist, — we 
were  all  one  that  night.  The  old  angler 
did  not  suffer — we  were  so  glad  of  that ! 
But  he  did  not  appear  to  know  us,  and 
his  talk  seemed  strange.  It  rambled  on 
quietly,  softly,  like  one  of  his  own  moun 
tain  brooks,  babbling  of  green  fields,  of 
sunny  summer  days,  of  his  favorite  sport, 
and  ah!  of  other  things.  But  he  was 
not  speaking  to  us.  A  sudden,  awed 


Fishiri  Jimmy  43 

hush  and  thrill  came  over  us  as,  bending 
to  catch  the  low  words,  we  all  at  once 
understood  what  only  the  bishop  put 
into  words  as  he  said,  half  to  himself,  in 
a  sudden,  quick,  broken  whisper,  "  God 
bless  the  man,  he  's  talking  to  his 
Master!" 

"Yes,  sir,  that  's  so,"  went  on  the 
quiet  voice;  "  't  was  on'y  a  dog  sure 
nuff;  'twa'n't  even  a  boy,  as  ye  say,  an' 
ye  ast  me  to  be  a  fisher  o'  men.  But  I 
haint  had  no  chance  for  that,  somehow ; 
mebbe  I  wa'n't  fit  for  't.  I  'm  on'y  jest 
a  poor  old  fisherman,  Fishin'  Jimmy,  ye 
know,  sir.  Ye  useter  call  me  James — • 
no  one  else  ever  done  it.  On'y  a  dog  ? 
But  he  wa'n't  jest  a  common  dog,  sir; 
he  was  a  fishin'  dog.  I  never  seed  a 
man  love  fishin'  mor  'n  Dash."  The 
dog  was  in  the  room,  and  heard  his 
name.  Stealing  to  the  bedside,  he  put 
a  cold  nose  into  the  cold  hand  of  his  old 


44  Fishiri  Jimmy 

friend,  and  no  one  had  the  heart  to  take 
him  away.  The  touch  turned  the  cur 
rent  of  the  old  man's  talk  for  a  moment, 
and  he  was  fishing  again  with  his  dog 
friend.  "See  'em  break,  Dashy!  See 
'em  break !  Lots  on  'em  to-day,  aint 
they  ?  Keep  still,  there  's  a  good  dog, 
while  I  put  on  a  diffunt  fly.  Don't  ye 
see  they  're  jumpin'  at  them  gnats? 
Aint  the  water  jest  'live  with  fem  ?  Aint 
it  shinin'  an'  clear  an' — "  The  voice 
faltered  an  instant,  then  went  on  :  "  Yes, 
sir,  I  'm  comin' — I  'm  glad,  dreffle  glad 
to  come.  Don't  mind  'bout  my  leavin' 
my  fishin';  do  ye  think  I  care  'bout 
that  ?  I  '11  jest  lay  down  my  pole  ahin' 
the  alders  here,  an'  put  my  lan'in*  net  on 
the  stuns,  with  my  flies  an*  tackle — the 
boys  '11  like  'em,  ye  know — an'  I  '11  be 
right  along. 

"  I  mos'  knowed  ye  was  on'y  a-tryin' 
me  when  ye  said  that  'bout  how  I  had  n't 


Fishin'  Jimmy  45 

been  a  fisher  o'  men,  nor  even  boys,  on'y 
a  dog.  T  was  a — fishin'  dog — ye  know 
— an'  ye  was  allers  dreffle  good  to  fisher 
men  — dreffle  good  to — everybody;  died 
— for  'em,  did  n't  ye  ? — 

"  Please  wait— on— the  bank  there,  a 
minnit;  I  'm  comin'  'crost.  Water  's 
pretty  —  cold  this  —  spring  —  an'  the 
stream  's  risin'— but— I — can — do  it; — 
don't  ye  mind — 'bout  me,  sir.  I  '11  get 
acrost."  Once  more  the  voice  ceased, 
and  we  thought  we  should  not  hear  it 
again  this  side  that  stream. 

But  suddenly  a  strange  light  came 
over  the  thin  face,  the  soft  gray  eyes 
opened  wide,  and  he  cried  out,  with  the 
strong  voice  we  had  so  often  heard  come 
ringing  out  to  us  across  the  mountain 
streams  above  the  sound  of  their  rush 
ing :  "Here  I  be,  sir!  It  's  Fishin' 
Jimmy,  ye  know,  from  Francony  way; 
him  ye  useter  call  James  when  ye  come 


46  Fishiri  Jimmy 

'long  the  shore  o'  the  pond  an'  I  was  a- 
fishin.'  I  heern  ye  agin,  jest  now — an' 
I — straightway — f'sook — my — nets — an' 
— follered—" 

Had  the  voice  ceased  utterly?  No, 
we  could  catch  faint,  low  murmurs  and 
the  lips  still  moved.  But  the  words 
were  not  for  us ;  and  we  did  not  know 
when  he  reached  the  other  bank. 


